Page 41 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

Pro tip for new mothers: always keep plastic bags in your car. Because when your kid’s school calls to tell you he’s sick, you’re going to need something to catch what comes next.

If I’d had a bag handy ten minutes ago, Luka’s breakfast wouldn’t be coating the SUV floor. And I wouldn’t be balancing on the edge of my seat, trying to keep my two-hundred-dollar heels out of the mess.

Another pro tip: don’t wear designer shoes to pick up your vomiting child.

Learn from my mistakes, ladies. It’ll save you much agony.

“I’m sorry,” Luka moans, clutching his stomach as another dry heave wracks his small frame.

“Jesus Christ,” Osip groans from the driver’s seat. “Is he gonna blow again?”

I shoot him a vicious look. “Osip, shut up and drive.” My tone changes the second I turn back to Luka, all maternal softness. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Do you need me to tell Osip to pull over?”

Luka shakes his head weakly. Good thing, because there’s nothing left inside him anyway. The kid’s stomach contents are currently swimming beneath our feet, and the smell is making me queasy.

From the front seat, Osip looks sick. He’s breathing through his mouth and pressing harder on the gas pedal, desperate to get us home before he joins Luka in the misery.

“Don’t apologize for being sick,” I tell Luka, rubbing slow circles on his back. “That’s what bodies do sometimes. They’re dramatic.”

Both our feet are tucked up on the seat now. This vehicle is going to need a hazmat team when we’re done with it. Or a lit match.

When we finally pull into the driveway, Osip throws himself out of the driver’s seat. “Should I call Luka’s pediatrician?” he asks, already backing away from the car.

“It’s a stomach bug, not the plague. Half his class has it.” I wait for him to help me out of the passenger side. “He just needs rest and fluids. I’ve got this.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got him all over you, too,” Osip says, making a face.

I swat his arm. “Go deal with the car. I’ll deal with the kid.”

“Right after I find a bathroom,” he mumbles. He slaps a hand over his mouth as he bolts for the house.

“Is Osip sick, too?” Luka asks.

“No, honey. He’s just being a baby about a little throw-up.” I ruffle his hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

We’re heading for the stairs when Waylen appears in the doorway, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “How’s our little patient?”

“Sick. Have you seen Kovan? I called him before I left the hospital, but he never answered.”

“That’s because he’s face-down on his desk with a fever of one-oh-three.”

“What?” I stop dead. “Is he okay?”

“He mumbled something about wanting darkness and quiet, so I left him alone.”

“Waylen!”

“What?” He holds up his hands defensively. “I’m not about to play nursemaid to your boyfriend. He’s a grown man.”

Rolling my eyes, I start herding Luka upstairs. “Where are you going?” Waylen calls after me.

“To take care of my boys.”

“You’re pregnant, V. Maybe keep your distance from the plague victims?”

“I’m making soup,” I call back. “Clear broth with chicken and vegetables. And don’t argue with me about it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Waylen mutters. “By the way, you smell like a garbage truck.”

“This is completely unnecessary, Vesper.”

I press my palm against Kovan’s chest and push him back against the pillows I’ve fluffed behind him. He goes down easily, his skin pale and clammy despite the hot shower I forced him to take twenty minutes ago.

“Have you always been this terrible at being sick,” I ask, “or are you putting on a special show for me?”

“I don’t get sick.” He tries to sit up again.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve just proven you’re human after all.” I push him back down. “Lay there and stay there. If you try to get out of this bed one more time, I’m handcuffing you to the headboard.”

He falls back against the pillows with a defeated groan. “Have you always been this bossy?”

“Only with stubborn patients who think they’re immortal.” I pick up the bowl of soup Waylen brought up earlier and ladle a spoonful. “Now, open your mouth.”

“I can feed myself.”

“Prove it.” I hold the spoon in front of his face and wait. After a few seconds, he opens his mouth like a grumpy toddler.

“That’s actually good,” he admits, surprised.

“Chicken soup has magical healing properties. That’s the first thing they teach you at med school.” I give him another spoonful. “Now, stop fighting me and eat.”

He settles back, watching me with an intensity that makes me self-conscious. There’s something vulnerable about seeing him like this: hair messed up, defenses down, letting me take care of him.

“How’s Luka?”

“Much more cooperative than you are. He showered, ate his soup, and went to bed without a single complaint about being treated like a human being.”

“I have work?—”

“Your work can wait. Your body is telling you to slow down before it makes the decision for you.”

He accepts another spoonful. “I don’t have the luxury of being sick.”

“Too bad. Your immune system doesn’t care about your schedule.” I blow on the next spoonful to cool it. “When’s the last time you took a day off?”

He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer. “I don’t remember.”

“Well, there you go. Your body is staging a revolt.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he argues, but there’s no real conviction behind it. “I don’t want you catching whatever Luka and I have.”

“I have an immune system like a tank. I never get sick.”

“Famous last words.” After I give him another spoonful, he asks, “Didn’t you have a shift today?”

“I did. But when Luka’s school called in the middle of my rounds, I rescheduled everything and left.”

“You could have sent Pavel or Osip.”

I set the spoon down and look at him. “When you’re sick, you want your mom, Kovan. Doesn’t matter if you’re nine or ninety. You want someone who cares about you to make you soup and tell you everything’s going to be okay.”

He laughs weakly. “I remember that feeling. Vaguely. Except my mother wasn’t the soup-making type.”

It’s the first time he’s mentioned his mother voluntarily. “What was she like?” I ask.

“The kind of woman who packed her bags and moved to the other wing of the house when any of us got so much as a sniffle. We didn’t see her again until we were healthy.” He pauses. “Last I heard, she was touring Europe with some twenty-year-old boy toy she picked up in Monaco.”

That makes me wince. “She left after your father died?”

“The minute the funeral was over,” he confirms. “Can’t say I blame her. She was never much of a mother anyway.”

“That must have been hard growing up.”

“Not really. You can’t miss what you never had.” He catches my hand as I reach for the spoon. “I have everything I need right here.”

I feed him the rest of the soup in comfortable silence, hyperaware of the way he watches my every move. When the bowl is empty, I pull out the jar of Vicks VapoRub.

“This will help you sleep,” I explain. “My mom used to do this when Waylen and I were sick.”

“Is this your way of trying to get me naked?”

I laugh, already unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re running a fever and delirious. I’m being a medical professional.”

“Right. Medical professional.” But he’s smiling as I spread the mentholated gel across his chest, his muscles relaxing under my touch.

I’m almost finished when the door creaks open. Luka peeks his head in. He looks small and lost in his oversized pajamas.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I call softly. “Can’t sleep?”

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he says sadly, and for maybe the first time since I’ve known him, he looks exactly like the nine-year-old he is.

“Come here.”

I slide into bed next to Kovan and pat the space between us. Luka climbs under the covers and immediately curls against my side with a contented sigh.

I press my hand to his forehead. “Good news. Your fever’s breaking. You should be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” His voice is muffled against my shirt.

“Of course.” I wrap my arms around him, and he melts into me like I’m exactly what he’s been missing his whole life.

Over his head, Kovan watches us with an expression I can’t read. Soft and fierce at the same time.

“This feels right,” Luka murmurs, already half-asleep. “I’m glad you’re my mom now, Vesper.”

My heart thumps. “I’m glad about that, too, sweetheart.”

“Luka, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask Vesper?” Kovan prompts gently. “No time like the present.”

Luka buries his face deeper into my shirt. “Not now.”

“You know you can ask me anything, right?” I stroke his hair. “There’s nothing you could say that would upset me.”

He peeks up at me with one eye, like he’s testing the waters. “I’m nervous.”

“That’s okay. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Both eyes appear now, wide and uncertain. “I’m really glad you’re pregnant.”

“Thank you. But I don’t think that’s what you wanted to say.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I was wondering if… maybe you could be my mom, too? Like, officially? So the baby and I can be real brothers?”

I’ve been expecting it, hoping for it, but hearing him actually ask makes my eyes fill with tears I can’t hide.

“You’re crying!” Luka gasps, immediately alarmed.

“Happy tears,” I assure him quickly, reaching for Kovan’s hand. “The happiest tears.”

“Really?”

“Luka, you asking me to be your mom is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Especially since I already think of you as my son.”

“So I can call you Mom?”

“I would be honored.”

He buries his face in my shirt again, but this time, I can feel him smiling. “Thank you, Mom.”

The word makes me feel complete. “No, baby. Thank you .”

In the quiet of the room, with both my boys sick and safe in this bed, I think this might be the most perfect moment of my life.

Vomit-covered shoes and all.